Glitter&Trauma
by misswhiteblack
Summary: When they leave Hogwarts she has more knowledge and he has more scars but they're happy ... MollyLysander, for darling Mad


_For the lovely Mad because she adores MollyLysander and because I've been away for far too long. I hope you love it darling and Merry Christmas._

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><p><strong>Glitter &amp; Trauma<br>**LysanderMolly

Nothing lasts forever, except you and me  
>you are my mountain; you are my sea<br>_- Mountains, Biffy Clyro._

**.**

He just so used to their public images, it's like they're cemented in concrete and have been since their first year at Hogwarts. You see, he's that boy, not just a bad boy but the dark, violent, unpredictable one, the one the other students avoid wherever possible, the one with the bruises and the bloody knuckles. He's never cared about his reputation because you must be fucking crazy to think that he won't protect his brother, and he'll break faces to do it.

She's his opposite; apparently, because she's the Gryffindor Golden Girl with the strawberry-blonde curls, the infectious laugh and the easy-going personality that just seems to draw everyone to her, and he's always admired her for that. She never skirts round him in the corridors but runs right up to him, throwing herself on him, kissing new bruises as though that'll make them go away and scolding him in a terribly affectionate manner for fighting, yet again. She always manages to make him smile.

He hears the whispers of her friends whenever she talks to him and he knows exactly what they think of him. "He's too dangerous" they tell her and she tells him so they can laugh about how ridiculous the notion is because he's Lysander and she's Molly and he'd do anything for her.

Leaving Hogwarts is better because her friends aren't around to whisper in her ear that he's no good for her because he's always known that, he doesn't need them to say it. That's why he's never asked her out; never bothered to tell her how he really feels because she needs someone so much better than him but every boyfriend she has he still wants to kick the shit out of them. They don't deserve her.

When they leave Hogwarts she has more knowledge and he has more scars but they're happy and being friends is so much easier in the adult world than in the confines of school.

**.**

She goes to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which he teases her for and he takes on a career with magical creatures because, if he's honest, animals are a lot easier to deal with than people unless it's merpeople because that can be completely confusing. He takes her out to lunch a lot because he's like that and he remembers so clearly the first time he arrived at her office.

"Can I help?" asks a female voice and he turns to find a delicate, pretty woman looking up at him, long eyelashes fluttering. For a moment he's confused by the look on her face since he knows he's wearing no visible bruises today and both his hands are behind his back before he realises that she's eyeing him up. There's a curious rush of pleasure at this idea.

"Is Molly Weasley there, please?" he asks, like a gentleman, even though she can probably tell, all too fine well, that he is anything but.

There is something like disappointment in her eyes when she turns away from him which makes him smirk for some curious reason as he leans against the wall to wait for Molly. There is whispering that catches his attention and he can see a few women peeking out into the corridor to look at him which makes his smirk even wider.

"Ly!"

He turns just in time to catch her as the ever elegant and graceful Molly flings herself on him like she hasn't seen him in months when he only saw her a few days ago. He squeezes her tightly, watching the envy in the face of the other women over her shoulder and wondering what exactly do they have to be jealous of?

"You came," she tells him delighted. "I thought you'd be far too busy."

"Pfft," he waves her suggestion off. "I'm never too busy to eat. Surely you should know that."

She laughs and for some reason he can't fathom she slips her hand into his.

It's like this easy thing, this friendship he has with her and even though he spends more time with his brother or at his work she's still such a vital part of his life because she's the one who makes him smile, makes him laugh. Then one day, it all falls apart.

**.**

The knock on his door at one in the morning has become ridiculously normal for him and he realises that he's become something of an insomniac recently. He's in bed but he's not asleep and he wouldn't have wanted to miss this visit anyway. He gets up, pulling on some boxers and then pads down the stairs, long fingers dragging through messy dark blond hair. He wonders briefly if he should have brought his wand, just in case, but then decides against it. He knows exactly who is knocking on his door at this time of night.

He opens the door to find her, propped up by the wall, strawberry blond curls matted and wild. He takes a look at her expecting some kind of woefully small garments to find that she's wearing nothing but a pair of knickers and a bra. It's then he grabs her arm, pulling her hastily inside, wondering where on earth her clothes are. He glances at the ground before he closes the door but sees no evidence that she stripped off on his front step.

"Ly!" she shouts stumbling forward into his hallway. "Don't pull."

"Molly, where are your clothes?" he asks her as the door slams shut and he doesn't bother to loosen his grip on her arm.

Molly just shrugs at that question and Lysander can smell the scents of sweat, fags and booze on her skin. It makes him want to vomit. He can see the glaze of her eyes and the bite marks that seem to litter her neck and collarbone. He wants to shake her, make her see sense because she's in some kind of circle of self-destruction and he's helpless against it.

"Is it Molly, Ly?" Lorcan's sleepy voice comes floating down the stairs to him and Lysander swears under his breath.

"Yeah, Lorcan it is," he tells him. "Go back to sleep."

"Hi LORCAN," Molly yells drunkenly before she giggles to herself.

"Don't forget the bucket this time," Lorcan yawns before Lysander hears him padding back to bed.

It's only then Lysander let's go of Molly. She immediately nearly falls over. He manages to catch her, noticing as he does so that she's not wearing any shoes and there is mud on her feet. He sighs. What the hell is he going to do with her?

"Molly, where are your clothes, your shoes, your wand?" he asks her.

Molly looks back at him drunkenly, a stupid little smile on her face like she's the happiest girl in the world even though he knows different. She doesn't answer his question but instead leans toward him like she's got some little secret to tell him.

"Ly," she says in what he thinks is meant to be a whisper, "I love you."

He rolls his eyes.

"I love you too, you little idiot," he tells her softly before towing her in the direction of the living room.

He sets her on the couch and then, after checking that she wasn't about to vomit, heads into the kitchen to get her a glass of water. As the water runs into the glass he feels like banging his head off the wall because he just doesn't know what to do about Molly. She's out of control and it's like nothing can stop her. Some of her friends have deserted her, like rats jumping from a sinking ship, which makes him sick, and the reporters are going crazy, desperate to capture the latest crazy thing Molly Weasley has done this week. He's trying, Merlin knows he is, and her family is trying too but for some reason no one can get through to her. It's like she's blocked herself off in an invisible box, pretending that she can't feel the pain.

He goes back through to the living room to find Molly nowhere in sight. He panics, spilling water out of the glass as he rushes to the front door, wrenching it open to look outside. She couldn't have gone far. She's nowhere to be seen on the street so she must still be in the house and he rushes up the stairs, bursting into his bedroom.

Molly's in his bed, bra discarded on the floor, cuddled up to his blankets like they're a teddy bear or something and the smooth expanse of her back on show. He just stares at her for a moment before shaking his head and moving to set the glass of water on the bed beside her. He then digs the bucket out from the cupboard by the bathroom and puts it too beside the bed mainly because there have been too many accidents before.

It's only then that he thinks about getting into bed, even though Molly's sprawled halfway across it. He wonders, only briefly, if maybe he should sleep down on the sofa but he's far too tall for that, so he pulls a blanket out of the cupboard (thanks mum!) and lies down on top of his duvet. Beside him, Molly sleeps soundlessly.

**.**

He wakes to the smell of vomit and glances over to see that Molly is still lying across his bed, hair a mess, looking as though she hasn't stirred the whole night. He gets up, leaving her dreaming peacefully so he can tidy up the bucket with the vomit in it. He feels lucky enough that Lorcan is at work this morning so he doesn't have to witness Lysander trying to piece Molly back together, again.

He empties the bucket down the toilet, careful not to spill it anywhere and he's glad that it's been so long now that his nose has almost become impervious to the smell of vomit.

"Ly," a shout comes from downstairs that sounds almost panicky and Lysander swears under his breath when he realises exactly who it is. He stashes the bucket back the cupboard and then runs down the stairs.

"Hey Lucy," he greets the strawberry-blonde girl covered in ash in his living room who looks like she hasn't slept all night. He can't help but feel sorry for her because she's three years younger than Molly but she's the one that is struggling to stay strong under the weight of Molly's collapse and maybe, just maybe, he understands what that feels like.

"Is Moll here?" she asks almost breathlessly, daring him to say that he hadn't seen her. "She didn't come home last night and we're going out of our heads with worry."

He sighs, pushing his hand through his hair as he observes the eighteen year old still in her slippers.

"She's here, Lu," he tells her both glad to relieve her worry but unhappy to cause more pain.

"How is she?" she asks tentatively, correctly interpreting his facial expression.

"Not good," he says simply, shrugging because he doesn't know what they try next when everything they've done so far has failed miserably. He watches Lucy's face fall and he knows how she feels because there used to be a time that Molly was the one with the smile on her face and the easy laugh to get all their spirits up.

"I suppose I'm not surprised."

It's then he sees the tears gleaming in her eyes and Lysander's damned if he knows what to do about them. He's used to Molly, she doesn't cry, which is maybe her problem but he's not Lorcan, he doesn't know what to do with Lucy.

"Shall I put the kettle on?"

It's an awkward question but just maybe Lucy's perfectly used to him so she just smiles through her tears and nods.

**.**

They sit in silence, something that doesn't bother either of them. He inquires just once after her father but accepts a single raised eyebrow as her answer and they return into silence. He's always found it very easy with Molly and Lucy because they just seem to get them, him and Lorcan. They seem to understand the very messed up relationship that they seem to have and neither of them have ever tried to judge them, neither of them were ever scared of him. He supposes that's what he likes about the Weasleys and the Potters so much.

The silence is broken by a thump from upstairs which Ly recognises as Molly getting out of the bed and he exchanges a slightly panicked look with Lucy. Molly's never been the type to take things lying down but her temper had spiralled out of control. She raged for no reason now, stormed, exploded and they never knew when they had to run for cover.

They wait in exaggerated tension as Molly staggers around upstairs. When he hears the bathroom door close Lysander takes Lucy's mug from her and heads to the kitchen. Molly would want a cup of tea. She always did, with plenty of sugar. As the kettle boils he sighs wondering exactly how this would go. Molly hated it when they "ganged up" on her as she called it although he knew that she wouldn't take a blind bit of notice. They were starting to notice at her work and it couldn't be long before they decided enough was enough. Something had to be done.

"What are you doing here?"

He's just taking out the tea bags when he hears Molly's positively dangerous tone and he can just see her standing in the doorway of the living room shooting daggers at her little sister, probably wearing his t-shirt. He grabs her tea and Lucy's and immediately heads through to try and keep the peace before Molly disappears, leaving Lucy in tears, again.

"Molly," Lucy's tone was pacifying when he came into the lounge and sure enough Molly's staring at Lucy with an expression akin to disgust wearing the t-shirt he had discarded last night. He hands Lucy her tea and puts Molly's down on the coffee table. He doesn't want her to have anything handy to hurl at them.

"Checking up on me, Lucy?" Molly hisses her eyes wild and red with drink. Lysander can tell she hasn't completely recovered.

"You didn't come home last night," Lucy says quietly. "I was worried about you. Dad was worried about you."

"I'm not a baby," Molly retorts, "I can look after myself."

He wants to interject here because the way she turned up on his doorstep last night said the complete opposite but when he opens his mouth, Molly snaps,

"Oh stay out of Ly."

He's had enough of it though. The way she treats them when she's either sober or sobering up even though those periods don't seem to be long enough in between the bouts of being drunk, the way she talks to Lucy, leaving her in tears and unable to understand what to do to help. He wants to grab her, shake her, make her see sense because sure he knows that she's hurting but she's hurting everyone around her too.

"Molly, I'm not going to stay out of it," he tells her calmly. "You don't have any right to speak to Lucy like that."

"Urgh," Molly screeches. "I don't understand what is wrong with you people, I'm FINE! So what if I enjoy having a few drinks? It's not illegal."

"Molly, it's more than a few drinks," he mutters.

"Molly," Lucy begins gently taking the glare her sister had got down to a fine art off of him for a moment, "look, she was my mum too. I miss her and so does Dad but it feels like we're losing you too. I don't know what to do to help …"

"I'm fucking fine," Molly shouts over her. "I don't understand what it is with you, Lucy. Do you like being the perfect child, the suck up? "I just want to help you, Molly". Well get it through your thick skull, I DON'T NEED ANY HELP! You and dad can bloody cry in each other's arms all you want, take flowers to her grave, whatever but I fucking won't."

"Molly, stop it," Ly yells, jumping to his feet and he feels so much like slapping her but he restrains himself. "You need to stop this. Lucy is your little sister, you're supposed to protect her, look after her, not treat her like shit. She's the one holding your family together or at least trying and you do nothing but make it harder. Do you even think for one moment what you are doing to your family with your stupidity? Making your mother's death that much harder on them because you seem to be incapable of dealing with it. Do you not even think what it does to them, to me when you can't go half an hour without a drink? You're a selfish bitch."

The look she gives him makes his heart stop dead because its pain and betrayal and all the things he'd never want to see in her eyes. He's right, he knows that and just maybe she knows it too but she can't accept it, can't grieve and that's what's killing her, killing them.

He tries to reach out, to stop her but she turns and with a loud crack she's gone.

He wobbles because maybe a smack round the face would have been more preferable. She relied on him, maybe too much, because he always tried to pick her up, because he'd always been there for her, understood her.

"I'm so sorry, Ly," Lucy's voice comes to him from a lot closer than he expected and when he turns she's right next to him. "I know you love her so thanks for sticking up for me."

He sighs.

"Don't worry about it, Lucy," he tells her in a dead voice. "She needed to hear it."

"I'm still sorry."

**.**

He looks for her. Of course he does because she's Molly and he's Lysander and they've always fitted right together. He doesn't understand what happened to her after her mother died, she just kind of fell apart and then tried to tear herself to pieces. He's tried to stop her, everyone has tried but she just fights back with the fiercest rage, rebelling more and more and he doesn't understand why she feels the need. Didn't she know that they all loved her? Didn't she know how scared they all were for her?

It's not like she just turned to alcohol. The men made it worse, especially for him. He saw the bruises that were their teeth against her skin, their fingers pressing into her soft flesh, sometimes he could smell them on her when she turned up at his door. He occasionally turned to drink too but mainly in the muggle world where he was no one of interest and it was only so he could fight, have the excuse to punch the living daylights out of someone for bugging him and pretending its Molly's lovers. Merlin, he was a sad case of a man.

He looks in all her usual haunts, checking with her cousins to see if they've seen her, checking with her friends, even the ones who had abandoned her. He went to her work, to that coffee shop round the corner, the Leaky Cauldron and even St. Mungo's. She's nowhere to be found.

As the light of the day dims into night he begins his search all over again knowing her other haunts will now be open, full of business. He apparates from one to the other because Molly is predictable when it comes to the kind of place she likes although nowadays he's pretty sure anywhere with a bar would do.

It's the one muggle pub that Molly likes that he finds her in.

He pushes open the door to the bar wearily. It's been a while since he was last here with Molly, back in happier times when they actually spent time together and she wasn't trying to mask her pain in a bottle of liquor.

There is loud music playing in the bar, several patrons look up at him as he scours the bar looking for her. He doesn't see her to begin with, just lads hanging around drinking beers with men and the occasional women either propping up the bar or seconded in the booths around the walls. The girl behind the bar looks over him, eyes narrowing. He can only guess at her thoughts but he would guess that she was evaluating him as a trouble maker.

There's a laugh that draws his attention to the back corner where the pool table is and it's a laugh he knows well although it seems hollow now, full of pain. He stalks round the bar to see Molly at the pool table with her blouse half hanging off, her eye gazed and her lipstick smudged. She's still the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, even with the fake smile stretched across her trauma.

"You're a little whore, aren't you?"

The voice of the lad with his arms wrapped around her brings Lysander's to him and he glowers, hands balling into fists, knuckles protesting due to previous abuse. Molly's laughing at the boy; smiling up at him like she wants nothing more than him and Lysander knows this façade she pulls up, this person she is just so she can forget.

Fury fills him as he watches the lad's hands begin wandering over Molly's chest and it's like a well-rehearsed move as he moves forward, his hands clenched. He rips Molly from the lad's arms spinning her behind him as he lands a solid punch with his right fist to the lad's jaw.

Molly is screaming, people are shouting as the lad staggers back and he hits him again, a lower blow this time to his stomach. Everything feels like it might be moving in slow motion as the lad bends double in pain. He answers to Lysander's challenge though, his fists meeting their targets in a fashion that is desperate. He doesn't feel the blows, like he's numb for some reason and he's good at this, so his punches are solid, inflicting more damage to the lad than he is receiving.

Something shatters over the back of his head; he can see particles of glass bouncing off his shoulders, off the lads he is fighting. He's vaguely aware of the pain and that the lad's friends have come to help. He's been outnumbered before so he's well equipped to knock the first lad off his feet before turning to deal with his friends. He can tell that they're inexperienced when it comes to fighting and drunk to boot so it's not like they stand a chance.

Molly is screaming his name, he can hear her in the background, sobbing, and he's not sure what's wrong. The lads' punches seemed ineffectual against him and in the corner of his eye he can see people coming to break the fight up, the bartender grabbing a bat from under the counter. He lands his punches, harder, faster. They're no match for him, he who has been fighting for god knows how long, not hampered with the fog of alcohol. His last punch floors the second lad and the third he easily pushes to the floor.

He grabs Molly, flinging her screaming over his shoulder and batters his way through the crowd to the front door. The door has barely closed behind him, before he's turning on his heel with Molly screaming in his ear and being sucked into darkness.

**.**

The lights are on when he bursts through the door and he's almost certain that Molly's fainted. There is the sound of scrambling feet as he gets into the living room to be faced with a white faced Percy, an anxious Lucy and even his brother, looking like a less beaten up mirror image.

"I found her," he tells them as he heads over to the couch to set Molly down.

"Thank Merlin," Percy breathes as he darts forward to his daughter who looks utterly peaceful lying on the couch, no pain across her face, no mask trying to hide it. Lysander stands back and lets them crowd round her, starting to feel the bruise that were undoubtedly forming upon his skin. He feels shaken to the bone but he knows there is nothing he wouldn't go through to heal Molly, to bring her back from the edge of the abyss she is balancing on.

"She's all right," he tells them, "although she'll probably have a hangover."

It makes him want to laugh because nowadays Molly only didn't have a hangover when she was drunk. He feels ridiculously lightheaded and the scene seems blurry before his eyes. He's not sure why but instead he just smiles as Lucy looks round at him, trying to be reassuring. He watches as her eyes widen in horror and he takes an involuntary step forward thinking there is something dreadfully wrong with Molly.

"Ly."

Lorcan's voice cuts through the haze and he turns to look at his brother whose eyes match Lucy's, wide in horror but his eyes don't meet his. Lysander raises his hand to his head where his brother is staring and he feels hot, wet stickiness under his fingers. He pulls his hand away to look at his fingertips. The redness looks back him, gleaming under the lights. He looks around at his brother, Lucy and Percy.

"Oh shit," he says.

**.**

He wakes up lying on crisp sheets and for some reason there are bright lights all around. His head is buzzing and he wonders where on earth he is. His body feels stiff, like he hasn't moved for a while and when he curls his hands his knuckles scream in protest. He looks up at the ceiling, white square blocks, wanting to sit up, to look around and see where he was. Maybe this was a dream but the pain from his hands and the ache in his head told him different.

There was a sound, like a curtain being pulled back and he lifted his head a little. He understood now. He was in St. Mungo's. The curtains were all around him. He felt ridiculous. There was no need for him to be there. He struggled, trying to sit up.

"No, Ly, don't."

His head whipped round sending it spinning but when he focused he saw Molly sitting beside his head, looking like she hadn't slept in days. It was more than this though. Her eyes were clear, sparkling. There was no fog of alcohol in her vision and the scents in the air were clean. She was dressed demurely in a cashmere top, no bruises littering her neckline and she was smiling at him, softly, tenderly, like she used to.

"Molly," he sighs wanting to reach out and touch her, wanting to hold her in his arms. "You're back."

Her answering smile is rueful, shamed.

"So are you," she whispers. "Thank you for fighting for me."

He laughs and it hurts his head.

"If I'd known I'd end up in the hospital I might not have bothered," he jokes. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days. You had a concussion and a bleed in the brain from the crack over the head with the bottle. They caught it quickly though and anyway, that's not what I meant."

He smiles at her, feeling as though his brain is banging around in his head.

"What did you mean?"

He watches her as she ducks her head, looking down at fiddling fingers and shame creeping up her cheeks. He's not sure if he should say something else because Molly's never been one for having trouble voicing her feelings or opinions.

"I meant," she begins in a small voice, "thank you for fighting for me against myself, when I was so intent on destroying myself and everyone around me. I'm sorry, Ly. I was being selfish and I shouldn't have put you through that."

He smiles at her and ignoring the stiffness reaches out of the bed to touch her face, stroking her cheek with one swollen, bruised finger. She looks at him, a small smile on her face and he can't help thinking that this is his Molly and it makes him euphoric to realise that she's back. She takes his hand, gently kissing his knuckles before she stands up moving to stand above him.

"You know," she says, "I've said it many times before but I mean it. I love you, Ly."

"I love you too, you little idiot."

She laughs.

"I want to kiss you," she admits, "but I think it might hurt."

"Never."

She ducks her head to press her lips on his forehead.

"It doesn't hurt here either," he says and when she pulls away she laughs when she realises he's pointing at his lips. She ducks down to kiss his lips, briefly, chastely but he grabs her, ignoring the pain and pulls her down on top of him. She squeals, trying to get away but he holds onto her tightly, gritting his teeth to ignore the way her hands are pushing at his ribs and he thinks he might have a cracked a couple.

"Ly, I'll hurt you," she tells him.

"You'll hurt me more if you pull away," he replies.

She stops moving abruptly and he clamps her down, tucking her tightly to his chest. She sighs against him, allowing her head to rest on his chest. They lie in silence for a moment, ignoring the healer who pokes his head through the curtains and has his protested silenced before it can begin with a look from Lysander. He couldn't bear to have this moment interrupted no matter what kind of pain he was in. He'd take it any day over Molly's pain.

"It's good to see you again, Molly," he tells her, whispering into her strawberry-blonde curls.

"It's good to be seen."

So maybe the moulds have been broken and maybe the public image has been shattered but he's still Lysander and she's still Molly and he'd still do anything for her.

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><p><em>So Merry Christmas everyone. There we have it, MollyLysander. It was a lot longer than I had expected it to be. I hope you enjoyed it and as always I'd love to hear your opinion. So press the magic button and make me smile.<em>

_Kerr x._


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